She smiled, and asked to see my flat. Oh, I’m such a fool. My heart sank as we walked along the street and I realized how central my new place was to everywhere she needed to be. She always had a good aesthetic sense and I saw how her eyes lit up when I stopped outside the white stucco-fronted building. With each flat privately owned, it was well maintained and smart from the outside. There were even window boxes with flowers.

Inside, the flat was like the Tardis: way more space than you’d imagine, and the owner had done everything possible to it to make it look light and fresh. There was a bedroom, a nice bathroom all done up in white, a separate living room and a new-looking open-plan kitchen that had an extra space attached: a dining nook, I imagined, but I was planning to use it for painting. The light was good despite the place being half underground – the living-room window ran the entire length of the room and was at head height, so you could see people’s feet walking past. I’d never lived in a basement before and it gave me a safe, womb-like feeling, like I was buried and hidden away, but still able to see out and watch the world.

‘It’s only the basement,’ I told Grace. ‘Don’t get too excited,’ but I could tell from her energy, even as we walked down the steps to the front door, that I’d made a mistake letting her come. Inside, she rushed about examining everything like an overexcited dog.

‘Oh my God,’ she said, looking at the dining nook. ‘There’s enough space here for a sofa as well as a small dining table, so you could use the living room as a second bedroom…’ She jiggled with excitement. ‘You could have the big room! I don’t mind being in the small one! What do you think?’

I’d laughed, thinking she was joking, but it turned out she wasn’t. Had she misread the situation, or had she deliberately manipulated me? Deep down, I still felt I owed her, and she knew it. I was still grateful to her for being my friend; for helping me get on track with my art. Without really realizing what I was doing, I’d nodded, and Grace had flung herself at me, hugging onto me like a limpet, weeping her gratitude. Then she’d flung her arms out and spun in a circle on the living-room floor, as if it was her place already, and I’d ended up with her living with me, rent-free, for two more years.

The flat should have been my retreat; my safe haven. It couldn’t have been further from it.

Would the same happen again now?